


i told the moon i wanted you

by Astrals (Evoxine)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rimming, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 14:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17851271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Astrals
Summary: Ever since the tender age of sixteen, Ignis has gone through all of his heats alone. Too busy to even think about mates (not that there are many eligible ones in the Citadel anyway), Ignis accepts the situation for what it is. But things change when Gladio accidentally discovers his sad excuse for a nest – out of the goodness of his heart, he takes it upon himself to try and make Ignis' next heat a little less lonely.Written forthisprompt on the FFXV kinkmeme.





	i told the moon i wanted you

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few things to note about the A/B/O + heat dynamics in this particular fic:  
> → Heats occur monthly for 4 days; tapers out for some, stays consistently strong throughout all four days for others – depends on the individual and their bond status.  
> → Suppressants are available for erections and slick, but not internal symptoms (cramps, sensitivity to touch, heat flushes, etc.).  
> → Heats are like menstrual cycles; scents do not change but might get slightly stronger.  
> → Soul bonds do not have to be between A/O, can be between any combination.  
> → Everyone is moderately sensitive to scent, and everyone has a unique scent. Having an alpha’s scent present helps an omega de-stress and also helps ease the discomfort of heat.  
> → While it is not necessary, nesting is seen as a cultural norm.  
> → During heats, omegas have poor appetite.
> 
> Additionally, while not explicitly mentioned, both Noctis and Prompto are betas. This fic is set within the year before the game starts.

Ignis has always prided himself on his ability to remain composed regardless of the issue(s) at hand. Whether it be poorly hidden snide remarks from numerous members of the Council or a dozen reports due to be read and summarized by sunrise, Ignis will never let his façade crack.

In fact, not even his monthly heats are able to affect him to a degree where he’d have to take the entire period off. Cramps and heat flushes are nuisances, but Ignis swallows a handful of pills and fights through the discomfort just for the sole purpose of maintaining his image.

It may seem abnormal to any other person, but being a male omega never bothered Ignis.

Ever since he presented at the age of sixteen, the deep-rooted social power structure seen between alphas, betas, and omegas failed to play a key role in how Ignis interacted with the Council and fellow members of the Crownsguard. To him, biological differences have a finite impact on what each individual is capable of – he trains more often than alpha Crownsguard members in order to make up for his naturally slimmer build, he studies on his personal time to offset the lack of academic attention given to omegas, and he takes on more responsibilities than any of the alphas he’s ever worked with just to prove that he can manage. Hell, he cooks better than the six alpha cooks hired to work in the Citadel kitchens.

After fifteen years, everyone has long since developed their own preconceived belief of the type of person Ignis is: frigid, a know-it-all, someone with multiple sticks up his rear. The thing is, most of these people have never interacted with him more than a handful of times. But trying to change their opinions would be a complete waste of his time, time that could be put to much better use – after all, his duty isn’t to quell silly rumours or fight back against bullies, it’s to be as capable an Advisor as he can be.

He knows how much he’s capable of accomplishing, and as long as he has Regis’ and Noctis’ faith in him, that’s all he needs.

 

 

 

  
A familiar scent informs Ignis of his approaching visitor, the hearty knock sounding out just as he looks up at the door.

“Iggy,” Gladio calls, opening the door without waiting for permission and squeezing his large frame through. The man’s over-the-top exuberance and proclivity for physical contact used to thoroughly irritate Ignis, but after years of proximity that gradually developed into friendship and camaraderie, he has long since learned to accept their characteristic differences.

“Ah, Gladio. Is this about Noct’s training bag that he left?”

A long, thick finger pierces through the air and Ignis stares at the digit hovering inches away from his face with mild amusement.

“It is,” Gladio says with a wag of his finger. “His training is in ten minutes, but being the complete sloth that he is, he sent me to come and get it from you.”

Rising to his feet, Ignis sets his pen down and pockets his keys. Gladio steps aside to let Ignis pass before following him out into the hallway, remembering to shut the door behind him before Ignis has the chance to mention it.

Although he has an apartment in the city, all staffed omegas are given a room in the Citadel for their heats. Alphas and betas are also able to request for a room – if, for example, one lived a couple of hours away and would like to save time on commuting –, but those are given out on a first come, first served basis.

Ignis uses his Citadel room mostly as a study and a place to store some of his books, although he does take advantage of the bed for the occasional nap whenever he feels the need to.

“You wanna spar after Noct’s session?” Gladio asks, easily falling into step with Ignis’ long strides. “Cor mentioned some new, fancy trick you picked up with your polearm, and you know I love fancy tricks.”

“Perhaps,” Ignis replies. “If I am able to finish my reports in time.”

He leads Gladio down a long hallway, stopping in front of a nondescript door two-thirds down. Unlocking it in one swift motion, Ignis steps inside and makes a beeline for where Noctis’ bag is sitting on the small desk against the wall.

“Here,” he says, opening the bag just to check that everything Noctis needs for training is inside. “Please do remind him to bring it home today, I have –”

“Iggy?”

Ignis looks over his shoulder and sees Gladio standing by the foot of the single bed, brows drawn and lips parted. As he watches, Gladio’s nostrils flare and Ignis feels the pit of his stomach plummet with dread. He’s scenting, Ignis realises, because there’s a high concentration of his scent in the corner of the bed.

“Iggy,” Gladio repeats, voice pitched low. “Is that your nest?”

The shame that tears through him leaves him breathless, chest tight and lungs straining for air. It’s unlike anything that he’s ever felt before and a vague part of Ignis’ mind wonders why he’s reacting this violently to one simple question.

By the time Ignis manages to calm himself down, Gladio’s still staring at the small heap of blankets and two pillows, all covered with Citadel issued sheets.

“Yes,” he answers, forcing the syllable past the heavy lump in his throat. “Sometimes I have no choice but to spend a couple of hours in this room. Suppressants can only do so much.”

“I understand that,” Gladio says, finally turning to look at him. Ignis' heart seizes, humiliated, at the clear sympathy in those amber eyes. “But why is that all there is to your nest?”

Feigning indifference, Ignis holds out Noctis’ bag and waits until Gladio closes a large hand around the straps. “I spend my heats alone, Gladio, have been doing so since I was sixteen. Are you telling me you’ve smelled someone else’s scent on me before? If not surrounded by my own things, what else could there be?”

The tone of finality in his words has Gladio closing his mouth, despite clearly wanting to say more. Ignis suppresses a sigh and walks out of his room, knowing full well that this will not be the end of the matter. Gladio likes to press, and while most of the time it’s out of pure intentions, Ignis doesn’t quite know how they’re going to navigate this one.

 

 

 

  
Because they work so closely together, Ignis had sent Gladio, Noctis, and Prompto a schedule of his heats for better coordination. As a result, the other three have easily been able to work around him whenever he needed a day off, usually on the first day of his heat. Prompto would keep Noctis (somewhat) on track with his school work and Gladio would do his best to make sure the Prince was watered and fed, and (hopefully) showered.

It’s a good system – Ignis’ heats never take any of them by surprise and it makes getting things done much, much easier. Never did Ignis expect, however, that the schedule would be used for anything other than efficiency.

The incident with Gladio slips farther and farther into the past, and with each passing day, Ignis inches closer to believing that it will never be brought up again. So imagine his astonishment when Gladio appears outside of his apartment door on a Saturday night, the night before his next heat is due to hit.

“Gladio? What are you doing here?”

Light from the hallway, low and orange, spills over Gladio’s features in a way that softens the strong lines of his jaw and cheekbones. The scar tissue running down his eye almost gleams.

“I want to give you something.” His gaze lingers on Ignis’ perplexed face for a heavy second before he bends and lifts up a duffle bag. “Please don’t flip out, I'm doing this because you’re my friend and I care for you, alright?”

Gladio waits until Ignis gives him verbal affirmation that he will not be eviscerated in his sleep before he hands over the bag. There, standing in the open doorway, Ignis pulls out the largest stuffed cactuar (maybe it’s supposed to be a gigantuar?) he has ever seen. It’s almost as tall as he is! How did Gladio manage to squeeze that into the bag?

“Apparently, it’s a gigantuar,” Gladio says, as if he has free access to Ignis’ mind.

It’s wonderfully soft and warm, but the thing that has Ignis’ eyes widening behind his glasses is the scent he can smell rubbed into the plushie.

“I got this at a specialist store.” Gladio seems very uncomfortable, if the way he’s shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to another is any indication. “It’s supposed to soak up scents very well, making it ideal for, uh, nesting.”

Instinctively, Ignis clutches the gigantuar closer to his chest. Gladio’s scent – woody, a hint of vanilla musk, and a hundred percent masculine – hits him smack in the face, and each inhale seems to loosen the knots that have cemented their presence in his trapezii just a little bit more.

“I also packed some of my shirts. None of them are sweaty or anything, I just wore them to bed for a few days. If they lose their scent, just let me know and I’ll switch them out for you. I left another bag in your office – it has the same stuff inside, although it’s a regular cactuar instead of a gigantuar. I figured that your room in the Citadel doesn’t have enough space.”

Ignis peers over the fluffy arm of the plush and sure enough, he sees a small pile of folded shirts sitting in the bag.

“Why are you doing this for me?” His words, quiet as they are, are practically eaten up by the toy. But Gladio hears him loud and clear.

“Like I said, you're my friend and I care about you. You’re stressed out as it is, so I figured that you deserve to experience decent heats. Shit, Iggy, of all the omegas I know, you deserve to experience the _best_ heats. You do so much for Noct and I know how much shit you get from people just because you’re an omega male – you’re tough as nails, but sometimes you just gotta relax and be comfortable, y’know?”

A part of Ignis wants to decline the help. Just because he doesn’t have an alpha’s or a beta’s scent to nest in doesn’t mean that he’s lacking something. But he knows that Gladio isn’t helping out because he thinks it’s sad that Ignis has spent years of his heats alone. No, Gladio’s helping him because he truly thinks Ignis deserves more.

It’s also surprisingly easy, to admit to himself that the sheer thought of spending his upcoming heat surrounded by this scent is _exhilarating_. See, the thing is, if there’s anyone in this building – no, city – that he would want to spend his heats with, it would be Gladio. Gladio, with his big heart and his big smile and his really big muscles. Gladio, one of his closest friends and a trusted comrade. Gladio, the subject of a simmering, chronic crush that has lasted for years.

For the most part, Ignis has done an excellent job of bottling up his feelings and shoving them into some locked box that he stores deep in the trenches of his mind. It might resurface ever so often, but Ignis has such control over it that there are times he fully believes he no longer harbours any romantic attraction towards this lovable, headstrong behemoth of a man. This particular moment, however, is not one of those times.

“Alright.”

“Alr – wait. So you’re actually okay with this?”

Ignis looks up at Gladio, gaze sharp. “Will _you_ be okay with this?” At Gladio’s confused frown, Ignis continues, “Heats and scents are inherently connected. The norm is for a courted omega to spend his or her heats with the other’s scent – this strengthens their bond over time and makes soulbonding an easier process for both. Seeing as we’re not courting each other, I don’t know what effect this will have on our relationship, but it’s best to be prepared.”

The confusion clears up as quickly as it had appeared.

“Yeah, ‘course, Iggy. I’m okay with it. Besides,” he says, taking a step back and shoving his hands into his pockets, “I wouldn’t mind if it’s you.”

Just like that, Gladiolus Amicitia is gone in a flash, leaving Ignis standing dumbfounded, swimming in his scent and wondering if the man had just _winked_ at him.

 

 

 

  
Sunday rolls around and Ignis wakes up with a start, painfully aware of the mess in his pants as he claws at his burning collar. His eyes slide over to where a clock rests on his bedside table – it’s almost noon, which means that his heat is in full force if he managed to sleep through six alarms. Quickly shedding his sleep shirt, Ignis fumbles for his glasses and slides it on before he checks his phone.

 **< Gladiolus A. 07:48>** hey iggy, i came over and knocked but u didnt answer so i assume your heat is here. i’ll get noct to actually attend the council meeting today and i’ll update u as the day goes. let me know if u need anything

 **< Gladiolus A. 08:33>** how the hell do u get his bloody highness up and going at 8:30 every day when he sleeps like a brick

 **< Gladiolus A. 09:14>** we’re a bit late but he made it

 **< Cor L. 10:45>** I will give you a copy of my notes for today’s meeting. Astrals know Noctis’ notes won’t cut it. Come find me when you return to work.

 **< Noctis L.C. 11:49>** ignis i miss your food

Ignis snorts, setting his phone aside in favour of piling his blankets and pillows into a haphazard pile on his bed, right up against the headboard. He’d slept with the gigantuar as a body pillow, and as a result, his hormones have already latched on to Gladio’s scent. It’s without any hesitation that he digs into the duffle bag at the foot of his bed, pulling out a couple of Gladio’s shirts that he adds to the pile.

The intensity of Gladio’s scent spikes once the shirts are out in the open and Ignis feels his body temperature react to the change immediately, dipping minutely and pulling the flush back from his face. He rolls out of bed and changes into slick absorbing underwear, tossing the soiled pair into his laundry basket. A cramp hits right as he steps into the kitchen for some water, but it’s already much more bearable than the ones he had experienced during his previous heats.

Ignis gathers everything he needs – a couple bottles of water and cans of Ebony, energy bars, and suppressants that he’ll only use if Gladio’s scent stops working at relieving the discomfort – before setting them down on his bedside table. Snuggling down into the pillows, he pulls the gigantuar right up to his chest and reaches out for his phone. The plush presses enticingly against his cock where it rests between his legs, sensitive despite not being aroused whatsoever, but Ignis pays it no mind.

 **< Ignis S. 12:14>** There are leftovers in the fridge, Noct. Just three minutes in the microwave will do.

 **< Noctis L.C. 12:19>** omg ty ty ty

 **< Gladiolus A. 12:20>** i was so close to ordering pizza, u have no idea. how are u doing?

 **< Ignis S. 12:22>** I’m doing quite well so far. The cramps don’t hurt as much as they used to.

 **< Gladiolus A. 12:25>** that’s good, right? do u need anything?

 **< Ignis S. 12:27>** That’s quite alright, Gladio, thank you. You’ve done more than enough for me. Do try to get Noct to eat some of the vegetables, though.

Turning to set his phone aside, Ignis’ nose brushes against the head of the toy, releasing a flood of Gladio’s scent into his system. A pulse of slick soaks into the fabric of his underwear and his cock twitches in its confines, sending Ignis scrambling madly for the stuff he keeps in the drawer by his bed.

He shoves a towel under himself and makes sure the nest is out of the splash zone before peeling his underwear off and rolling a condom on over his rapidly swelling erection. Some omegas like to wait, wishing to savour the pain-pleasure that comes with denying themselves sexual release during their heats. Ignis, on the other hand, just wants to get it over and done with.

Teeth grit, Ignis reaches around and pushes the dildo in, lips parting at the breach and the feeling of fullness. It likely won’t take long for him to climax, not when he’s got his cheek pressed against one of Gladio’s shirts and his thickest toy spreading him open.

When he comes, it’s with blurry mental images of a tattooed arm around his middle, a scruffy cheek against his neck, and calloused fingers around his cock.

 

 

 

  
Ignis returns to work on Monday feeling oddly refreshed. The bottle of suppressants sat untouched the whole of Sunday, Ignis somehow able to find much-needed relief in the cloud of alpha pheromones that floated around him.

Before he leaves the apartment and heads over to Noct’s, Ignis buries his face into the softness of the gigantuar’s and takes a long, deep inhale. It instantly settles the buzzing in his belly and he can feel his pulse even out into a steady beat. With one last glance into the mirror – does he have more colour in his face? –, Ignis steps out and starts his day.

“Highness,” he calls, closing Noctis’ front door behind him and pocketing his keys. He waits for a beat or two, but as per usual, he doesn’t receive an answer. Striding into the bedroom and over to the curtains, Ignis flings them open with a flourish and waits until he hears Noctis’ groan from under the covers.

“Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes, Noct. Please do get washed up and dressed by then.”

A nonsensical mumble is Noctis’ only response, but Ignis knows from experience that the Prince is, for all intents and purposes, awake. It might take him another few minutes to physically roll out of bed, but he’ll get there.

Sure enough, Ignis has just finished getting out all the ingredients he would need to make Noctis’ breakfast when a shock of black hair emerges from the bedroom.

“No peppers,” Noctis mumbles, shuffling past the kitchen and towards the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him and Ignis promptly places a yellow bell pepper – yellow because it blends in with the eggs – onto the chopping board.

The omelette is just about finished cooking when Noctis comes out looking a little more human and a little less like a moogle that has been run over like a car. He settles down at the dining table and takes a long drink of the water that Ignis places in front of him.

“You really do smell like Gladio,” Noctis mumbles, wiping a drop of water from his mouth.

Ignis pauses, one hand curled around the handle of the pan.

“Is that bad?”

He hears Noctis’ shrug instead of seeing it. “No, just an observation. He told me that he was helping you out and not to jump to any conclusions if I should smell him on you.”

For a split second, Ignis wonders what it would be like if he _always_ smelled like Gladio. He promptly shakes that thought out of his mind – this is not the time nor place.

The omelette slides perfectly out of the pan and onto an empty plate. Garnishing it with a few sliced strawberries (at least Noctis doesn’t deem fruits to be as revolting as vegetables) he brings it over to his charge and sets the plate down.

“Thanks, Specs.”

Ignis watches as Noctis takes a large bite and swallows. He doesn’t mention the presence of (finely chopped) peppers, so Ignis smiles to himself and sets about fixing up the mess of an apartment that Noctis calls home.

Hands preoccupied with folding up his sleeves, Ignis uses the flat of his forearm to push his glasses further up his nose. The brush of skin against skin causes a twinge in his belly, the feeling hot and sultry – ah, he really does smell like Gladio. His stomach seizes, but instead of pain, Ignis just feels… good.

Clearing his throat, Ignis picks up a spray bottle and a clean cloth, getting straight to work before the biological instinct to attend to his heat can overtake the necessity of his job. He can always hole up in his room at the Citadel during lunch and deal with it then.

Clothes shoved in the laundry basket, a quick wipe down of the surfaces, picking up empty soda cans and snack wrappers… It’s a routine by now, and while Ignis’ job description doesn’t exactly mention being a housekeeper, he takes it in stride. Noctis is his charge, but he is also Ignis’ longest friend, and if Ignis can make Noctis’ life a little easier just by picking up trash, it’s something he is more than willing to do.

They leave the apartment on time, and after Ignis drops Noctis off at school, he heads straight to the Citadel.

 **< Ignis S. 09:23>** Marshal, could I drop by in fifteen minutes for Sunday’s Council notes?

 **< Cor L. 09:27>** I’ll be in my office

Mind too busy whirring away as he goes through the list of things he has to do, Ignis fails to notice the number of heads turning to look at him as he strides through the corridors of the Citadel, nor do his ears pick up on the hushed whispers that soon follow.

In his office, Ignis finds an identical duffle bag to the one Gladio had brought to his apartment, along with a stack of reports that he needs to get started on reviewing as soon as possible. He grabs his work tablet and decides to go through his memos while on the way to Cor’s office just down the hall.

He’s got a hand poised to knock when Cor’s voice floats through the half-open door.

“Gladiolus, why on Earth are you still here? You have a drill to run with the new recruits –”

“Um, Marshal? It’s Ignis.”

A shuffle, then Cor himself appears. “Huh,” he says, eyes fixed on Ignis’ face. “So it is.”

Ignis blinks. Neither one of them says a word.

Then Cor swivels on his heel and walks back to his desk, retrieving a neat sheaf of papers that he extends to Ignis. “Here you go. His Highness has probably forgotten everything that was said at the meeting – a lot of it is about infrastructure, and we all know how much he loves those discussions.”

“Thank you, I’ll make sure to go through these with him.” With a bow, Ignis takes his leave. During the walk back to his office, he tries his best not to dwell on Cor’s words.

 

 

 

  
Ignis likes keeping his office door shut for one very obvious reason: peace and quiet.

But while his ears are telling him that he’s alone, his nose is vehemently denying that claim. He can distinguish at least six different scents lingering outside his door, and while he’s trying his very best to ignore their presence, it’s not easy to simply _stop breathing_.

Glaring at his closed door in hopes that his gaze is acidic enough to sear through the wood and scare everyone off, Ignis huffs and attempts to return to his work. Alas, his will manages to stay unbreakable for all of nine minutes. This time, however, it isn’t the gross amalgamation of scents outside that distracts him. It’s the surge of heat that rises from the pit of his belly up to his neck, forcing a whimper out of his throat and a trickle of slick from his ass.

He takes off his glasses and rubs at the space between his eyes, muttering a flat, “How wonderful.”

With a sigh, Ignis rises to his feet and grabs the duffle, checking his pockets for his keys to his room here at the Citadel. Maybe he’ll be able to squeeze out a couple of orgasms in half an hour? It’s certainly ambitious, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to waste to begin with.

He opens the door to find, as expected, a small huddle of people outside.

“Can I help _any_ of you?”

There’s an awkward pause before they turn tail and disperse. Rolling his eyes, Ignis heads towards the stairs, pace brisk and purposeful. But he only makes it up two flights of stairs before Gladio’s scent hits him, the impact so hard that he doubles over, a hand gripping the rail so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Iggy? Shit, are you okay?”

Through the rush of blood in his ears, Ignis hears footsteps hurrying down the stairs from the level above, then a strong hand is curling around his forearm and keeping him steady. Intuitive enough to figure out that this has something to do with Ignis’ heat, Gladio doesn’t push for an answer. Instead, he moves closer and winds an arm around Ignis’ middle, free hand reaching around to take the duffle.

“I’m gonna help you to your room, alright?”

It’s so hard not to burrow into Gladio’s warmth, so Ignis does. He lets Gladio half-support and half-carry him to his room while he sucks in lungfuls of Gladio’s scent – it’s a little sharper and stronger, but Ignis attributes that to sweat as a result of the drills Gladio had to run with the new recruits. It’s not a bad difference at all; in fact, it makes slick leak out of him at a faster rate and the coil around his gut tighten.

He fumbles with the keys in his pocket for an embarrassingly long time before he manages to pull them out and press them into Gladio’s hand. They’ve still got more steps to climb, speed severely hindered by the rush of Ignis’ heat.

“Please,” is all he says, then Gladio is bending and sweeping him up into those stupidly strong arms, footsteps increasing in volume as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Everything is pleasantly hazy and Ignis vaguely registers a faint tingling dancing across his skin. He hears the sound of a key being forced into the keyhole before the lock slides clear. A dull pain shoots up from his ankle – “Shit, sorry,” Gladio mutters –, then his back comes into contact with something soft.

Gladio pulls back, but Ignis reaches out with shocking speed and grabs his wrist.

“Stay,” his mouth says. His brain isn’t up for filtering at the moment, it seems.

“I can’t, Iggy. You’re in heat, and I don’t want to do something that you might regret once it passes.”

He peels Ignis’ fingers off and unzips the duffle, placing the cactuar and the shirts onto the bed. Ignis is already starting to put together a half-assed nest, piling anything that is soft and comfortable into a mound and tucking himself into it.

“Do you have what you need?”

 _He means lube and dildos_ , Ignis’ mushy brain provides helpfully.

“No,” Ignis mutters, petulant. He does have lube and dildos in one of the drawers in his desk, but that’s not what his body needs right now.

“I can’t stay,” Gladio repeats, although to Ignis’ heat-addled mind, it sounds like he really wants to. “If you need water or food, just send me a text, okay?”

The door has barely clicked shut before Ignis is shucking off his pants and sinking three fingers deep into himself, wishing that the digits were thicker and stronger and didn’t belong to him. He buries his nose into the cactuar, breathes in, and presses unforgivingly on his prostate – he comes instantly with a muffled shout and several jerks of his cock.

“Fuck,” he rasps, staring up at the ceiling.

This heat is a venture in uncharted territory. He has never gone through a heat with someone else’s scent, and Ignis has absolutely no idea what to expect.

 

 

 

  
**< Ignis S. 16:28>** Gladio, I want to apologise for propositioning you when you were trying to help me get settled. Your scent must have more influence on my heat than I had originally anticipated.

 **< Gladiolus A. 16:31>** don’t worry about it, i understand

 **< Gladiolus A. 16: 33>** altho now is probably a good time to tell u that pretty much everyone in the citadel thinks i’m trying to court u.

 **< Ignis S. 16:36>** Rumours indeed spread fast, it seems. If it’s a bother, you don’t have to continue helping me. I can take some suppressants and I’ll start smelling like myself in a few days.

 **< Gladiolus A. 16:39>** don’t be silly iggy, suppressants aren’t good for u. besides, it doesn’t bother me, i’m glad i can help. if people wanna talk, let em

 

 

 

  
It seems that people _do_ want to talk. About Ignis.

As Ignis walks through the Citadel’s halls, he hears whispers of _why would Gladio want to go after him?_ and _maybe it’s an order from above – because you know, he’s always so uptight_ and the occasional _Gladio could do so much better…_

The logical part of Ignis brushes all those baseless rumours aside. His co-workers can waste their time gossiping if they want; he’s going to stay on top of his duties and get things done. Why scents hold so much meaning in their society – well, that’s a question that he doesn’t care to answer.

But the illogical part of Ignis wants to bite all their heads off. He’s so tired of people constantly judging him because of his accent, his proclivity for hard work, his sharp mind, his closeness to the royal family… his status as an omega. Put bluntly, it’s bullshit. It’s bullshit and Ignis knows he hasn’t done anything to warrant such bullshit.

It’s the third day of his heat and apart from strangers’ looks and words hidden behind hands, Ignis doesn’t know what to expect. The day starts off normally enough, with feeding a drowsy Noctis – and a chipper Prompto, who had apparently stayed over the night before – and driving them to school.

Then he’d taken one step into the Citadel and found Gladio waiting for him, a massive shoulder leaning against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his favourite leather pants. Inked feathers curl around the wide expanse of his arms, the ink so dark that it almost shines under the light. There’s a serious set to his jaw that immediately sets Ignis on edge, but Gladio’s eyes soften once he catches sight of the Advisor.

Ignis finds himself rooted to the spot as Gladio approaches, the man crossing the space between them in only a handful of strides.

“Did I… Do we have an appointment?”

“Iggy,” Gladio laughs, the sound warm and heavy, “I think you would remember if we have an appointment. No, I’m here to walk you to your office.”

A hand lands on his back, fitting perfectly between his scapulas, and nudges him forward.

Ignis lasts for a whole of two and a half minutes before he turns to Gladio and asks, “Why exactly are you walking me to my office?”

Gladio’s honey gaze flickers down to him. “I know you don’t like it when I try to sugarcoat things, so I’m just gonna tell it to you straight, yeah?” He clears his throat and drags fingers through his hair. Ignis can’t help but marvel at how silky his hair seems to be. “I’ve heard a lot of shit floating around in this building, Iggy. Some of what’s being said are really fucking rude.”

“I can take care of myself, Gladio,” Ignis says, somewhat affronted.

They turn a corner and someone knocks into Ignis, the force enough to cause him to stagger backwards a few steps. If it wasn’t for Gladio’s hand on his back, Ignis might’ve kissed the floor with the back of his head.

“Watch it, Shiva,” the guy mutters, a clear jab at how most of the Citadel perceives Ignis to be frosty and curt.

Everything happens in a flash, almost as if Gladio had suddenly developed the ability to warp strike. Ignis has just barely regained his balance when he sees Gladio pinning the guy – it’s Kane, an assistant for one of the Councilmen – up against the wall with a hand around his neck. Kane’s feet, hovering two feet above the ground, kick out uselessly.

“Apologise,” he snarls, the tendons in his forearm flexing with the grip.

There’s already a crowd forming, people spilling out of rooms and hurrying downstairs to watch the commotion that is unfurling right in front of Ignis’ eyes. Ignis himself is frozen, gaze transfixed on Gladio’s profile, tight lines of irritation and anger clearly pressed into his skin.

It takes a monumental effort to find his voice. “Gladio,” he tries. “Let him go.”

Gladio turns his head towards Ignis, hot amber searing through his very core. “I’m sick and tired of assholes like him judging others when they never take the time to get to know them,” he grits, making no move to let Kane go. His eyes narrow as he turns back to Kane. “You’d be bloody lucky to have someone like Ignis in your life. Smart, caring, extremely loyal. Strong and quick; hell, he’s bested me in sparring more times than I can count and I wouldn’t want anyone but him having my back in battle. He’s done more –’

“Gladiolus.”

The silent crowd parts to let Clarus through, the sounds of his footsteps bouncing off the walls as he walks over to his son. He stops a few feet away and doesn’t say anything else, choosing instead to wait. Gladio takes a breath, Ignis staring as the strong column of his throat works, and lets Kane go. When Kane collapses to the ground clutching at his throat, no one steps forward to help him up.

With a swallowed sigh, Ignis does, walking past Gladio to offer the guy a hand. He can feel so many eyes on him, including Gladio’s, and he doesn’t realise that he’d stopped breathing until Kane accepted his hand and air came rushing back in.

Shame flits across Kane’s face once he had gotten back onto feet with Ignis’ help. Neither man says anything and Ignis steps back once he deems Kane stable enough.

“Come with me,” Clarus says, voice low and directed only to his son.

Eyes stubbornly fixed on the wall, Ignis hears Clarus walk away, but he doesn’t hear Gladio follow. When he finally looks over his shoulder to check, he sees Gladio’s gaze on him, intense and unreadable.

For the longest time, they just look at each other.

Then Clarus barks Gladio’s name, voice cutting through the stagnant air around them like thunder, and Ignis opens his mouth to say, “You should go.”

So Gladio does, heading over to where Clarus is waiting at the foot of the stairs. He spares Ignis a glance over his shoulder and Ignis can’t help the leap of his heart.

“Get back to work, all of you,” Clarus says, and everyone immediately scatters, leaving Ignis standing alone by the wall.

 

 

 

  
Ignis is in the middle of editing one of Noctis’ essays when his phone lights up, the vibrations of a new text message causing it to rattle across his desk and knock into an empty can of Ebony.

 **< Gladiolus A. 13:28>** hey, can we talk?

Fingers hovering over the keypad of his phone, Ignis stares at the message and wonders if he wants to. He’s not angry, exactly, but he definitely isn’t pleased about the entire stunt Gladio had pulled this morning either. People have been quieter around him, almost scared, and while Ignis appreciates the silence, he doesn’t want it to be because of this.

 **< Ignis S. 13:32>** I am afraid don’t have anything to say to you right now, Gladio.

 **< Gladiolus A. 13:33>** that’s fine, i’ll talk and u can just listen. it won’t take long.

Biting back a sigh, Ignis replies with an assent.

 **< Gladiolus A. 13:35>** i’ll be at your office within the hour

It’s hard to refocus after that. Ignis manages to get another few paragraphs edited, but he knows that he’s working at a much slower pace than he would otherwise. He’s re-reading a sentence for the third time when a sharp knock on the door has him jumping in his seat.

“Come in.”

When Gladio walks in, Ignis does two things. First, he subtly checks his friend for any obvious injuries – who knows, Clarus might’ve decided to discipline his son by pitching him against Cor or any of the other senior glaives. Second, he grips the edge of his desk just a little tighter when Gladio’s scent washes over him, body giving a slow throb of _want_ that has heat pooling low in his gut. For what seems like the _n_ th time since the start of his heat this cycle, Ignis curses its existence.

“I just want you to know,” Gladio begins as he walks in, clearly not beating around the bush, “that I didn’t do what I did because I thought you needed someone to stick up for you. I did what I did for myself.”

He stops right on the other side of Ignis’ cramped desk and looks him right in the eyes. “I’ve had so many people come up to me over the past couple of days, wondering why I chose you when there are, and I quote, ‘so many better omegas around’, and I got fucking sick of it, Iggy. I got tired of hearing them put you down and seeing how _used to it_ you are. I've heard some pretty shitty things said about you before, but it has _really_ gotten out of control.”

“You could’ve just corrected them,” Ignis points out, hoping he doesn’t look as flushed as he feels.

That has Gladio pausing, the feathers down his arm rippling as he reaches up to run a hand down his face.

“Yeah, I guess I could’ve. But I didn’t want to.”

At Ignis’ _Please Explain Yourself_ expression, Gladio pulls himself up to his full height and says, “I didn’t want to because I wanted that to be the truth.”

Ignis can’t fucking think when he’s practically drowning in Gladio’s scent. “What does that even mean?”

“People think I’m courting you.” Gladio’s eyes slowly sweep south, dark eyelashes fluttering with each downward cast, stopping when he’s staring at the piles of papers on Ignis’ desk.

“Yes?”

“I _want_ to be courting you.”

That confession hits Ignis with the full weight of the Regalia. It leads to so many things happening inside of Ignis’ body and mind that he ends up gaping unattractively at Gladio for minutes, the silence stifling until the latter clears his throat and says, “You don’t have to say anything, remember? Just listen.”

Gladio backs up until he hits the wall, at which point he rests his head against the surface, closes his eyes, and exhales. Ignis watches him gather his thoughts together, throat dry and fingers sore from how hard they’re gripping the desk.

Honeyed eyes slowly open and find Ignis’ instantly.

“I don’t know how long it’s been, really,” Gladio begins, gaze hot and steady through the shutters of his eyelashes. “That I’ve had feelings for you, I mean. Years, definitely. You were the one that made me realise I liked both men and women, actually.”

He scratches at his shaved sideburn and licks his lips. “I didn’t really know what to do with that bit of information. See, I knew you were interested in men, but I also knew how dedicated you were to your work, and you’ve always made it abundantly clear that anything that takes time away from it is never worth it. So I just… held it in, I guess. Dated a few people here and there to see if they could get my mind off you. But –”

“Did they?”

Ignis said it so quietly that he wasn’t sure Gladio would be able to hear him, but of course he could.

“No, Iggy, they didn’t.”

An uncomfortable tightness around his gut eases at those words and Ignis wants to curse his body for reacting so truthfully. He clears his throat and tries to switch topics.

“So.. is that why you helped me?”

“Not exactly. I helped you because I genuinely wanted you to be comfortable during your heats. I’ll admit that being able to smell myself on you was a great bonus, but I had no ulterior motives going into this. I wasn’t planning anything stupid; flooding you with my scent and hopefully have that make you more receptive to me? No – you’re _Ignis_ , you’d be able to look through that in a heartbeat.”

Ignis can sense a _but_ coming from a mile away.

“But,” Gladio sighs, “when people saw it as me courting you, I couldn’t help but think about what could be.”

“Why’d you do that to Kane?”

Gladio’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Seriously? Iggy, almost everyone in this goddamn place disrespects you when they have no reason to. I don’t have to be in love with you to know that that’s bullshit. I grew up being trained to protect, so that’s what I did.”

As much as Ignis prides himself on being able to stay focused through any and all types of distractions, he has never tested that theory against a love confession. Anything Gladio said after ‘have to be in love with you’ just… flew in one ear and out the other.

“Y-you’re _in love_ with me?”

There’s a pregnant pause before Gladio shatters it, sagging back against the wall with yet another sigh. “Yeah, Iggy. I am. You should look at yourself through my eyes, maybe then you’ll understand.”

Ignis wants to reply, wants to say _something_ , but a surge of heat rushes over him and causes his head to spin a little too quickly. Somehow, Gladio makes it to Ignis’ side just before his knees hit the ground.

“Whoa, Iggy – you okay? Is it your heat?”

“It’s not supposed to still be this strong,” Ignis mumbles, letting Gladio fit an arm around his waist in order to keep him steady. “I think it’s because of you.”

He can feel the alarm radiating off of Gladio’s large frame in waves.

“Not in a bad way, Gladio. The reason that my heats have never been this intense is simply because I had no potential mate.”

Gladio isn’t dense – it doesn’t take him long to latch onto the meaning behind Ignis’ words.

“I’ll help you to your room,” is all he says.

“I will likely want you to stay.”

“And I’ll say no, Iggy.”

It’s a sluggish walk through the halls of the Citadel, but at least people make way for them now. They walk in silence, Gladio’s hand firm on his waist and Ignis trying his best not to think about how that hand is large enough to cover half his stomach.

At the door to Ignis’ room, Gladio lets him go and Ignis immediately mourns the loss of warmth.

“If you wanna talk after, you know how to find me.”

When Gladio turns to leave, Ignis reaches out a hand to stop him.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could you re-scent the cactuar for me? If you won’t be staying, I’ll need something stronger than the scent left on it.”

Gladio groans, bracing his weight against the wall with his elbows, head cradled in his hands. “You can’t just say stuff like that when I’m trying to do right by you.”

“Gladio, I think the fact that I let you help me with this heat says a lot, wouldn’t you say so? Why do you think I agreed to it? Just because you are a close friend and we grew up together? If Noctis was the one who proposed the idea to me, I would have said no to him.”

“He’s the Prince, Iggy. Our charge. You say no to him whenever he wants to help you do something – which isn’t often, mind.”

Ignis huffs. “I let you help me, Gladio, because you are the only one I would ever consider spending my heats with.”

Gladio’s elbow slips from the wall and he nearly smacks his face on the surface.

“It has been years for me, too.”

“What?” Gladio croaks.

Highly aware that they’re still out in the hall with not even a modicum of privacy, Ignis opens the door to his room and tugs Gladio inside. Once the door is securely shut, Ignis turns to Gladio and says, “I was seventeen and you had just started training me. Despite being part of Noctis’ retinue, we never had the chance to spend much time together before that, so getting to know you was something I looked forward to.”

He takes a deep breath and instantly shivers at the heady rush of Gladio’s scent.

“And I got to know you, Gladio. Is it such a surprise that I fell in love with you, too?”

The doorway isn’t a big space, and with Gladio’s bulk, they’re essentially pressed up against each other. Ignis can tell that Gladio is still trying to be a gentleman – his hands are curled into fists in order to stop himself from reaching out for him.

“Please stay. You know me, Gladio. I would only ask if I was sure.”

“Iggy,” Gladio tries. “ _Ignis_.”

Ignis’ mind might be foggy with heat, but it’s clear enough for him to reach out, shove Gladio’s large back against the door and crowd right into his personal bubble.

“You wanted to help me. So help me.”

 

 

 

  
It’s hard enough sometimes for Ignis to keep his long frame tucked into the single bed, so fitting the both of them onto it is a proper challenge. After a lot of rearranging and manoeuvring, Ignis ends up with his back flush against the pillows, the contents of his healthier looking nest surrounding him on both sides while Gladio sits, barefoot and cross-legged, in front of him. Ignis sets his glasses down on the nearby shelf.

The jut of Gladio’s throat dips. Ignis, despite the wetness slowly seeping out of him and his hardening cock resting along the seam of a thigh, remains motionless.

“Once we start, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” Gladio finally says, carding trembling fingers through his thick head of hair. “One last chance, Iggy. If you want out, you’ll have to tell me now.”

Figuring that actions speak louder than words, Ignis lifts a hand and brings it to his collar, thumb and forefinger coming together to slide a button through its hole. His shirt falls open just slightly, barely exposing an extra inch or two of skin, but it’s enough to cause Gladio’s jaw to tighten and his pupils to dilate.

The second Ignis slips his fingers down to the next button, Gladio moves.

Ignis barely has time to take a breath when Gladio descends upon him. It’s oddly beautiful, the contrast of rough hands on either side of his face with the softness of Gladio’s mouth. Gladio kisses like he fights, unrelenting and passionate, the steady pressure of his lips coaxing Ignis to yield. It’s maddening in the best ways imaginable and Ignis is already addicted.

As he parts his lips to let Gladio in, it dawns on him that the burning sensation behind his eyelids is due to _tears_ – one escapes when Gladio tilts his head for a deeper angle and breaks across the seam of their joined mouths, adding a little hint of salt to the kiss.

It has Gladio pulling back, chasing yet another rolling tear with his lips until he kisses it away near the edge of Ignis’ jaw.

“I should’ve acted sooner,” he murmurs, thumbs sweeping under Ignis’ eyes. They come away wet. “Your duties, the expectations placed on you by the Council, your family, _yourself_. The responsibilities you have taken on in Noctis’ stead, and even mine, sometimes. You have the weight of the world on your shoulders and somehow you still manage to find the time and energy to care for those around you. I know you don’t need it, but if you’ll let me, I want to take care of you. Be there for you. I want –”

“Yes,” Ignis whispers. He pushes his cheek flush against the curve of Gladio’s palm. “Yes, Gladio, yes. I want to be loved.”

With that, he pulls Gladio’s mouth back down onto his and drinks in the taste of the man he has known for years as his colleague, comrade, friend – and now, his mate. A strong grip around his waist holds him steady as he surges up to his knees for better leverage, fingers digging into the thick muscles of Gladio’s shoulders and leaving behind half-moon grooves in their wake.

Gladio lets Ignis take control, perfectly content with the way his lips are steadily becoming kiss-swollen and with their mingling scents. He keeps an arm around Ignis and lets the other drift down to the swell of Ignis’ toned ass, small but pert, covered by a pair of fitted trousers. At the first brush of his fingers against the growing wet patch between the cheeks, Gladio tries and fails to swallow the aroused rumble that rises up in his throat.

“You’re soaking through your clothes,” he groans, words made harder to enunciate with his bottom lip trapped between Ignis’ teeth.

Ignis grinds down onto Gladio’s hand, cock jumping in the confines of his pants when he feels the tips of thick fingers brush against his covered hole. He finally releases Gladio’s lip and leans back, wide pupils surrounded by a thin ring of blown glass. His mouth is so pink; Gladio thinks it’s one of the sexiest things he has ever seen.

“I’ve never been so wet through any of my heats,” Ignis confesses. “It’s the third day, Gladio. It was never unusual for me to stay mostly dry on the third day. This is all because of you.”

Even a saint wouldn’t be able to hold back on hearing that – and Gladio is no saint.

He gently pushes Ignis back down onto the pillows, keeping his eyes on that stunning face while he unbuttons Ignis’ pants and tugs on the zipper. Thumbs hooked into the waistband, Gladio works the fabric down around sharp hips, exposing a simple pair of burgundy boxer briefs followed by the tops of strong, creamy thighs. The sight of Ignis’ smooth skin already has Gladio’s dick weeping and Ignis’ pants aren’t even completely off yet.

Down the knees, past the calves, and _oh_ – Gladio had forgotten that Ignis wears sock garters.

“You’re killing me here.”

“I’m the one sitting in a puddle of my own slick,” Ignis retorts, kicking his pants off with a flick of his foot. It arcs through the air and lands on the surface of his desk.

Gladio had wanted to unwrap Ignis slowly and carefully like the once-in-a-lifetime present that he is, but the sight of the patch of wetness spreading out from under Ignis’ ass has him literally tearing his own shirt off his body. Ignis’ nostrils flare at the sight and a strong wave of his scent hits Gladio right in the face.

“ _Strip me_ ,” Ignis demands, already dealing with the buttons of his own shirt. So Gladio reaches forward and rips Ignis’ underwear into useless shreds, tossing the sodden pieces of fabric down onto the floor at the same time Ignis flings his shirt in the general direction of his pants. He leaves Ignis’ sock garters and socks on.

Climbing off the bed, Gladio stands at the foot and wraps a hand around each of Ignis’ ankles. One swift pull and Ignis is sprawled out on the bed, hair falling out of its pristine style and pooling into a halo around his head. Gladio takes a few precious seconds to sweep his own hair out of his face before tying it up. He’s going to want them out of the way for what he wants to do next.

“I want to taste you,” is what Gladio says right before he pushes Ignis’ knees up and apart, face settling into the space between his thighs.

The first pass of his tongue across Ignis’ dripping hole has the both of them moaning, Gladio from the concentrated source of Ignis’ scent and Ignis from the sheer mind-blowing pleasure. _It’s filthy_ , Ignis thinks hazily, _and so fucking hot_. With a pitched whine, he pushes back onto Gladio’s tongue, riding his face desperately as Gladio laps up his slick like it’s nectar from the Gods. He’s so wet that the tip of Gladio’s tongue slips inside without any resistance whatsoever, curling around his fluttering rim and rubbing teasingly against the sensitive skin. When Gladio seals his lips around his hole and sucks lightly, Ignis swears he can feel his own slick slip out of him in rivulets and disappear into Gladio’s mouth.

The sounds filling the room are downright obscene – the smack of Gladio’s lips against Ignis’ wet entrance, the slurps he makes with every swipe of his tongue, the unabashed moans that escape Gladio’s throat as he drowns himself in Ignis’ taste and scent. Ignis himself can barely make a sound, too high on pleasure to do anything else but fist the sheets and breathe.

Ignis doesn’t even realise when he comes for the first time. Gladio is the one who notices, the feeling of Ignis’ thighs shuddering under his grip enough to catch his attention. He pulls away to see streaks of come across Ignis’ heaving torso, eyes closed and the sheets bunched up in his hands. Colour rides high on his cheeks and there’s a thin sheen of sweat over his skin – he looks absolutely breathtaking.

“Astrals, Iggy.”

Swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Gladio gets to his feet and finds a bottle of water that he drains half of in one gulp. He passes the rest to Ignis, helping him upright with a hand on the small of his back as he drinks.

Hydration out of the way, Ignis circles his fingers around Gladio’s wrist and brings his hand down to his cock, leaning in to nose along the curve of Gladio’s neck, right over where his scent gland lies. Ignis inhales deeply and hums in contentment.

“You’re still hard,” Gladio says thickly. Ignis’ erection is warm and heavy in his hand, the head flushed a rosy red and glistening with precome. When he fists it from root to tip, it twitches in his grip and releases a pearl of liquid from the slit.

“Because I need you.” Ignis’ voice is like molten lava, sliding hot through Gladio’s ears and into his mind.

At those words, a bolt of desire blazes straight through Gladio’s core. It takes mere seconds for him to step out of his pants – what a great day to go commando! – and return to his position between Ignis’ legs. He leans in close, covering Ignis’ body with his own and pressing his lips against Ignis’ forehead. Lacing their fingers together and braced above their heads, Gladio keeps their eye contact unbroken as he pushes two fingers into him. The breach has Ignis’ eyes widening and his lips parting, fingers tightening around Gladio’s until the knuckles of Gladio’s hand are pressed flush against his perineum.

“You feel amazing,” Gladio murmurs, burying his nose into Ignis’ hair. He crooks his fingers and Ignis moans, loud and broken.

The third finger encounters barely any resistance when it enters and has Ignis’ hips bucking up, the movement hindered by the weight of Gladio’s frame. Dragging his fingers in and out of Ignis’ heat with slow, measured strokes, Gladio basks in the sounds that Ignis makes. Goosebumps erupt all down his arms at the thought that he is the first one – and hopefully, the only one – who gets to unravel Ignis like this, to see him naked and writhing with pleasure.

All it takes is Ignis’ shaky exhale of his name for Gladio to pull his fingers out and roll a condom over his swollen cock. When he glances up, Ignis is already gazing down at him – the raw emotion that Gladio sees in his eyes has his heart skipping a few beats and three words springing up on his tongue.

“Ignis,” he begins, but a heel pressing on the small of his back has him shutting up.

Ignis settles a palm over his own rattling heart. “I know, Gladio.”

Neither of them utters a single word for the longest breath, gazes locked, then Gladio grasps the base of his cock and nudges the head against Ignis’ entrance. He slides into Ignis like he was always meant to be there, mouth dry as he watches Ignis take him in inch by inch until he bottoms out.

“Oh – _Gladio!_ ”

Ignis is hot and tight and smooth around him and Gladio can’t think straight.

His hips move of their own accord, unwilling to wait for his brain to restart and regain control. Each drag of Gladio’s cock pulls a low moan out of Ignis’ throat, thighs trembling with effort as he keeps them spread to accommodate Gladio’s bulk. Gladio notices – of course he notices – and drapes Ignis’ legs over his shoulders. Then he leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Ignis’ head, and the change in angle has Ignis gasping around a lungful of air and coming all over their torsos.

Gladio swears, losing his rhythm for a second or two before he recovers and continues pistoning into Ignis’ pliant body, eyes flickering between Ignis’ face and his flushed, sensitive erection.

Fingers tangle themselves in Gladio’s hair, tugging on the tie until it snaps and dark locks tumble down around Gladio’s ruggedly handsome face. Ignis marvels at the softness, how the strands part easily for his fingers when he cards them through. His thumb presses on the corner of Gladio’s mouth – at the touch, Gladio’s eyes lock on to his, and a particularly well-aimed thrust has Ignis whispering Gladio’s name with utmost reverence.

“I’m tryin’, but I'm really not gonna last,” Gladio tells him. Ignis swipes a bead of sweat off his brow and pulls Gladio’s head down until their foreheads touch.

“Knot me,” Ignis breathes, cherry-red lips skimming across Gladio’s. “Fill me. Make me come.”

Gladio groans, a bubble of _something_ rising in his gut that feels just the slightest bit possessive. It's an unfamiliar feeling, and if Gladio’s honest with himself, it's also a little frightening. Not wanting to mull over it right now, he leans down to capture those pretty lips in a kiss, Ignis opening up to him the instant they touch.

A pleased, animalistic growl tries to pry its way out of Gladio's throat – he never knew he was capable of making such a noise, but that revelation is promptly eclipsed by another: Ignis is _purring_ beneath him.

Contentment is evident on Ignis’ face, in the colour that rides high on his cheeks and how dilated his pupils are. He has willingly given himself and his pleasure up to Gladio and he's _happy_ with how he's being pleasured, and if that doesn't yank at all of Gladio’s heartstrings, then nothing else in the world would.

“Purr for me again,” Gladio all but begs when it stops, rocking deeper into Ignis. He wraps a hand around Ignis’ cock and squeezes a thick drop of precome out of the slit. Ignis’ toes curl into the sheets and he purrs again, a low vibration in his chest that Gladio feels from the crown of his head all the way down to the soles of his feet.

At that, it takes another two thrusts of his hips for him to climax, spending deep into Ignis’ warmth with a muffled roar of sheer pleasure. The base of his cock swells almost instantly and the tightness around his knot coaxes another pulse of come out of him.

It's hard to hear through the thundering of his heart – it resonates in his eardrums and drowns everything else out for a few seconds. When the rush fades, he hears Ignis practically screaming under him.

Alarmed, he’s just about to ask if Ignis is in a lot of pain before it dawns on him that he's screaming in _bliss_. Ignis’ cock is flushed and swollen on his stomach, come steadily dribbling out of the slit as Gladio's knot inflates and stretches him open to a degree he has never experienced before.

Ignis feels like he's ascended to a whole new plane of existence. His orgasm doesn't seem to want to end, the pressure of Gladio’s knot – and how _full_ he feels – sending waves and waves of pleasure up his ass and through the length of his cock.

Right as he thinks it's about to end, Gladio brushes a thumb across an aching nipple and another orgasm slams into him without any warning whatsoever. Throat raw, all that comes out is a whimper as he jerks under Gladio’s weight, spent cock spurting out a few drops of clear liquid before Ignis gets to experience his first ever dry orgasm.

His brain is numb and his muscles are on fire, and yet he can still feel Gladio pulse inside him. It's nice, a reminder that they're tied together, that Gladio is the one who made him feel this… this fucking good.

“You okay?”

Ignis feels a hand smoothing sweaty hair out of his face. He cracks his eyes open to see Gladio's face mere inches away, positively glowing. He wonders what he himself looks like.

“I have no words for what that was like,” Gladio says, settling down onto his elbows in order to take his weight off his wrists. Ignis’ come smears between their stomachs, but neither one of them cares. “You’re… everything. I–thank you, Iggy.”

Ignis splutters. “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because this is everything I've wanted and more. I got you, Iggy.”

Ignis has never been very good at dealing with heartfelt words directed to him, so he blushes horribly and tries to change the subject.

“How long are we locked together?”

“Not too sure,” Gladio admits. “It takes about twenty minutes to go away when I'm by myself, but I don't know much that changes when I'm with someone else.”

Wait. Ignis pushes on Gladio's chest until he's able to look the other man in the eyes. “You've never –?”

Gladio smiles, a little abashed. “No. I didn't want to risk bonding with someone else I didn't have feelings for. I've done things, and I've had a lot of offers to go all the way, don't get me wrong –” Ignis can't help but roll his eyes at that, “–, but I only ever wanted you.”

Then Gladio's hands come to fit around his waist and Ignis finds himself rolled over onto his side, a leg slung across Gladio's hip. A pillow finds its way under his head and Gladio pulls him close.

“We need a shower,” Ignis mumbles into Gladio's shoulder. He presses his nose against warm skin and breathes his favourite scent in. Oh, he realises, it smells like them.

“Don't really want to,” Gladio says. “We smell good together.”

Ignis almost tells Gladio that he feels the same way. Instead, he curls an arm around Gladio's middle and says, “We could simply scent each other after.”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Gladio kisses the crown of his head and Ignis can't help the faint purr of delight that escapes him. When Gladio pulls him impossibly closer, Ignis knows that he'd heard it – instead of embarrassment, all he feels is happiness.

 

 

 

  
The rest of Ignis’ heat goes by in a sultry blur. After their first coupling, Ignis managed to make it through the workday before the need to feel Gladio inside him surged up once more. It wasn't until he came yet another two times and literally took the shirt off of Gladio's back – for his scent – did he finally go home.

The next day passes similarly, with Gladio taking Ignis up against the wall in that cramped room. They'd gone back to work without a shower and Ignis had basked in the thick cloud of their combined scents throughout the entire day.

“So,” Noctis asks when Ignis picks him up from school. Ignis’ heat is finally over and the intensity of his scent has dulled to a normal level. Noctis’ sigh of relief when he climbs into the car is understandable. “Are you guys bonded now?”

“No,” Ignis answers calmly. “Soulbonds are meant to last for life, and while Gladio is someone very important to me, I want to let the relationship develop in its own time. If it is destined for us to head down that path, then that is what we will do.”

“He's already ready to throw his life down for you, you know.”

When Ignis looks into the rearview mirror, Noctis is looking back at him.

“I mean, of course he says that his duties to the crown will always come first, but if it really came down to it, I don't know who he would choose.”

“Did he tell you this?”

Noctis snorts and picks up his phone. “Hell no. But it's obvious. He doesn't need anything else as long as he's got you.”

There's a moment of silence, broken only by the constant rumble of the car engine.

“He loves you, Specs.”

“I know,” Ignis exhales, unable to stop the small smile that his lips curl into. “I love him too.”

 

 

 

  
Ignis had expected it to take some getting used to, but Gladio's shift from his place in Ignis’ life as friend and colleague to a mate seemed… right. Almost natural.

Gladio treats him as his equal and his best friend, and Ignis couldn’t have asked for anything better. They come in to work separately, and oftentimes Gladio will drop by Ignis’ office in the morning, before work officially starts, just to greet him and give him a long, deep kiss. In turn, Ignis tries to find time in his schedule to pop by the training rooms or the gym, where he’ll lean against something just to watch Gladio move. The strength in his body and the fire in his eyes never fails to get Ignis’ heart racing.

During Council meetings that require Gladio’s presence (i.e. meetings involving Noctis), they’ll sit across from each other and trade small smiles whenever there’s a lull in the conversation. Ignis never fails to remind Gladio that their relationship cannot affect their work, and Gladio understands. They officially address the nature of their relationship in front of King Regis and Clarus in a private meeting, promptly receiving blessings from both. Clarus even gives Ignis a hug, thanking him for taking on the big responsibility that is his son.

News of their relationship spreads throughout the Citadel like wildfire – which is expected, considering Ignis’ former negative reputation and Gladio’s constant desirability. _This_ is the difference that Ignis has some trouble getting used to.

People keep out of his business and Ignis is inclined to believe that he is finally being treated with the respect that he deserves. There are no more shoves, his contributions in meetings are appropriately received, and some are actually making an effort to develop a relationship with him. Sure, there are those that refuse to step out of the gossip mill, but Ignis supposes that will always be a part of life. How can he complain when Gladio always manages to track him down for lunch, placing a protective hand on the small of Ignis’ back as they make their way through the Citadel and out onto the bright streets of Insomnia?

Once, right before they stepped out from the Citadel, someone had approached Ignis just to tell him how lucky he was for landing someone like Gladio. Before he could respond, however, Gladio spoke.

“I’m the lucky one,” he’d said, and promptly excused themselves from the conversation.

After a few weeks, Ignis returns all of Gladio’s clothes to him – he doesn’t need them anymore, not when Gladio will happily rub his scent all over Ignis the second Ignis asks –, but he holds on to the cactuars. They’re soft, adorable, and they remind him of Gladio’s devotion. He wants to give Gladio something equally as meaningful in return, but that’s a project he can gradually work on.

After all, if Ignis’ gut serves him well, he’ll have all the time in the world to work on that.

 

 

 

  
“So why are we here?” Noctis mumbles, slumping deeper into his chair. He’s half-asleep and Ignis suspects he’ll remain that way for the next few hours.

It’s a Saturday morning, and Noctis, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto have been summoned to the Citadel. Ignis arrives with Noctis and Prompto in tow and one of Cor’s assistants leads them over to the King’s private meeting chamber.

“I don’t actually know, Noct.” Ignis frowns, fingers drumming against the shiny surface of the table. He doesn’t like not knowing things.

The door swings open and Gladio enters with something clutched in his hand. He spares a few seconds to greet Noctis before walking over to Ignis and setting a can of Ebony down in front of him.

“Good morning. I’m guessing you could really use this right now,” Gladio grins, and Ignis can’t help but give the big guy a kiss on his cheek.

Noctis, used to their relationship by now, doesn’t react in the slightest. Prompto, on the other hand, almost fails to stifle a squeal.

“Have I told you guys that I’m so happy you got together?”

Amusement is evident on Gladio’s face and Ignis suppress a smile at the sight. “Yes you did,” Gladio says, indulging. “Quite a few times.”

Prompto is just about to answer when the door to the chamber opens. Regis enters with a sweep of his cloak, followed by Clarus and Cor, and the atmosphere in the room turns serious.

Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto rise to bow – Noctis sits up straight, tries to rub the sleep from his eyes, and greets his father with a, “Hi Dad. Why are we here?”

Sighing, Ignis reaches over with the intention of pulling Noctis up to his feet, but Regis simply motions for them to take their seats.

“Son, do you still keep in touch with young Lady Lunafreya?”

 

 

 

  
As soon as Ignis kills the engine and steps out of the car, he hears the deep rumble of Gladio’s motorcycle approach.

Sure enough, he turns to see Gladio ride up, guiding the bike into a parking slot effortlessly. After the meeting at the Citadel, Gladio had followed the Regalia to Noctis’ apartment before they headed back to Ignis’ place. They had plans to spend the day together, and considering the fact that they will be departing in a couple of days, a cuddle on the couch sounds very nice at the moment.

Ignis can’t help but stare at the sheer power in his thighs when Gladio dismounts, but his attention is promptly robbed by the look of excitement on Gladio’s face.

“We’re going on a road trip,” he exclaims, setting his helmet down on the seat of his bike. He hurries over to Ignis. “Together!”

At the state of Gladio’s hair, Ignis tuts and reaches up to tame the wayward strands. Gladio stands still while Ignis fusses, ever-patient. “We’re not going on a vacation, Gladio. We’re escorting our Prince to his betrothed.”

Ignis’ tone is light and it does nothing to quell the enthusiasm that’s threatening to spill out of Gladio’s frame.

“Even so,” Gladio says, pulling Ignis flush against his solid chest with an arm around his waist. “That’s a lot of time we get to spend together! Do you think we can camp outside a few times? I haven’t been camping in a while and I would really love for you to experience it. I mean, sure, there might be…”

As Gladio rambles on, Ignis steers them over to the elevators. Gladio’s arm remains around him, fingers splayed across his hip, and Ignis momentarily wonders if he can get away with bringing a certain something.

With a ding, the elevator stops at Ignis’ floor.

“Gladio?” Ignis says, interrupting Gladio’s passionate spiel about the beauty of the outdoors. He unlocks his door and steps in, waiting until Gladio’s inside before closing it and finishing his question. “Do you think it’s sensible for me to pack the gigantuar?"

Gladio blinks at him. “You want to bring it?”

“Yes. I’ve gotten used to falling asleep with it. But I don’t know if it’s wise to bring it along; what if I leave it behind somewhere by accident? Or worse, what if Noctis won't shut up about it?” He pads into the bedroom, unbuckling his belt as he goes. Now, where are his favourite pair of sweats..?

He’s vaguely aware of Gladio trailing after him, but he’s too focused on tracking down those sweats to be able to prepare himself for the assault that is one of Gladio’s bear hugs.

“Bring it. If you lose it, I’ll buy you another one. And if Noctis dares to make fun of you for it, I'll dangle him by his feet over a ravine.”

It’s hard to breathe, what with Gladio’s broad arms wrapping around his body like vines. Ignis melts into his hold though, turning his head to brush his lips across the sharp ridge of Gladio’s cheekbone before nuzzling into the curve of Gladio’s throat. He breathes him in, slow and deep, and lets a wave of fulfilment wash over him.

“Okay.” He presses the syllables into Gladio’s skin. “I’ll bring it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love them.
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine) I'm also (sort of) on Twitter @sheiganes_ !


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